


I'm On Fire

by newtandthediamonds



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: F/M, Fingering, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Requited Love, Smut and Fluff, Tiny Angst, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 07:42:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15967796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newtandthediamonds/pseuds/newtandthediamonds
Summary: A trip to New York changes Bill and Y/N's friendship forever.





	I'm On Fire

Things have been different between them ever since the first night that the Losers arrived in New York for their summer trip. Everything was great that night, they'd gone out dancing since Bev, Y/N, and Eddie were begging them to, which gave Bill the perfect excuse to get a little unhinged for a night. All he could think about was that little red dress she was wearing and the way it hugged her body at every taunting curve. And that's how he ended up between her and Beverly, dancing until he was on the brink of exhaustion while they handed him shots of whiskey, which they'd come to recognize as his favorite, to down every so often. Typically, he's able to keep himself at bay with her. Even though they all dance like this together, despite the normalcy of it, he tries to avoid it if he can make himself. Because being so close to her without being able to just grab her by her face and kiss her-it's pure torture. But since he was high and lacking control, he danced with her.

This inevitably led to a pit of disappointment come time to pile into a taxi to head back to the hotel they were all staying at. The rooming system was well planned so he wouldn't have to see her once they got back to their bedrooms. He, Richie, and Stan share the first room. Ben, who unfortunately has to third wheel with a couple, is paired with Mike and Eddie. While lastly, the girls have their own space.

The peace of being across the hall from her ended quickly though, when he went to turn on the shower in their room and found that the shower head was broken. He tried for a good ten minutes, turning the water on and off while angling the detachable head in a million different directions to see if somehow he could fix it, before he admitted defeat and slipped into a pair of shoes to go to the lobby.

In all fairness, the lady behind the desk was very kind about it, but the news she gave him after he explained the situation was disappointing to say the least. No working shower until afternoon the next day, when their maintenance worker would come back from a short vacation with his family. All he wanted to do was wash the stench of alcohol, cheap perfume, and glitter-which he didn't even understand how or why it got on him-off of his body and go to sleep. All he wanted was a shower.

So he dragged himself back into the elevator and decided that he'd try asking Mike if he could use the shower in their room, but when Eddie opened the door he told him that Ben was already using it and that both him and Mike were waiting for it.

That was when he got really frustrated. Because he realized what the last option he had left was and didn't want to have to do that.

Richie was lying on his bed in his boxers, legs crossed at the ankles as he flipped through channels on the tv in his bedroom when Bill opened the door. With the click of a button, he shut the television off and turned to his friend.

"What's up?"

He let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his brows with his thumb and forefinger, "The shuh-shower's broken, I went to the lobby to ask if they could send someone up to fix it, but their maintenance worker isn't on duty right now. Then I asked Eddie if I could use the shower in his room, but they're all waiting their turn for it and I smell like teenage girl p-perfume and tequila because Y/N spilled a drink on me so a shower is kind of urgent-"

He interrupts, "Go to her room, man, she and Bev won't mind if you use their shower."

Bill knew, could tell from the moment he said the words, that his friend would never understand why he doesn't want to go across the hall and use their shower. If he told him, if he told anyone, they would have thought it was idiotic. In fact, even he thought it was dumb that the only reason he'd go to bed covered in glitter, damp with tequila soaked into his skin, is because he doesn't want to be near Y/N.

He thought on explaining his dislike for the idea of having to knock on her door, ask her if he could borrow their shower, and get naked a room over from where she slept, but decided against it. I'm being melodramatic, he thought to himself.

"F-Fine," He muttered and walked out of the room.

It took him a few minutes of fighting off a rising wave of anxiety in his gut before he knocked on the door. Room 316, he double checked to be sure. And by some mercy, a gift from whatever god lurked above him; Beverly was the one that opened the door. Never had he been so thankful to see the face of the redhead in his life. That rising wave of anxiety he'd felt begin to take over him calmed almost instantaneously and he let out a thankful exhale, thinking that maybe the night wasn't going to end that badly after all.

Beverly said yes, not that he'd expected anything less from the kind friend, and led him through the front living room and kitchen area and down a hallway to the bathroom.

She said as she dropped a towel into his hands, "Y/N's asleep in the next room, so just try to be quiet so she won't wake up, alright?"

It took everything he had to not let out a sigh of relief. Asleep, not getting dressed for bed or in Bev's bedroom watching TV or talking, but asleep. Unconscious and unaware of his presence entirely. It helps him relax a little since he hadn't planned on being even in the same hotel room as her after dancing with her at the club the way he did. A part of him wants this shower so badly just to wash away any trace of her, because all he feels is his body against his and even the memories of it being back the arousal he'd felt strike him in the center of the dance-floor earlier that night.

The cold water felt heavenly against his heated skin, kept any kind of indecent thoughts that had been swarming his mind all night from getting him hard. It was difficult to tear his mind away from the woman sleeping in the room beside where he showered, but he managed. And he managed to keep his fantasies under control. He didn't even want to think about how ashamed he'd be with himself if he had to rub one out while using someone else's' shower, especially her's. Thinking about it as he dried himself off made his face twist in a grimace. But, thank god, the night was over without him running into Y/N, the one person he couldn't get out of his head in the worst of ways.

Bill padded down the hallway with the towel sitting low on his hips, walking with a little more energy than when he'd been dragging himself all over the damned hotel searching for someone to fix the shower or someone's shower to use. But something stopped him. At this point, Bev had retired to her bed and all the lights in the living room and two bedrooms were turned off, but he still heard something. He was planning to walk as fast as he could past her room before he heard it, but then...He heard the same noise again and that time it sounded like someone calling out for help. It sounded like someone saying his name and it was coming from Y/N's room. Naively, and filled with worry, he hurried the rest of the way back from the door and made for her room. Only once he got to the door, he stopped in his tracks.

The bedroom door was slightly ajar, probably having creaked open on accident, so a small crack in the door allowed for him to see into the room.

"Bill."

He had to clamp a hand over his mouth to mask the sound of his gasp. And all he knew as he figured out what was happening was, 'I shouldn't be here, I need to go. I shouldn't be here.'

Y/N wasn't calling out for help or in any kind of trouble. She was moaning his name. The sound of it, paired with the soft whines and pants, and the sight of her touching herself beneath the sheets made all of those thoughts come crashing down on him again. And before he could pull back from the door, she said his name again. It stunned him. They'd always been good friends, even kissed a couple times when they were good and drunk as teenagers, but there was never anything that would have led him to believe she'd be thinking of him, calling out his name, while she was-

He stopped looking through the crack in the door immediately, knowing very well that he'd walked in to see something he wasn't meant to. He tried to see the situation with a level head, tried to calm himself down before she would hear his weight shift on the creaking floorboards. Even if she wants to fuck herself to the thought of you, it's not your business and you shouldn't even be in here. Go back to your room.

And he did just that.

Bill shut the main door to their room as gently as he could and leaned against it to catch his breath.

"Oh god," He muttered.

What he didn't know was that she got quite aroused when they'd gotten a little too close as they danced that night too. All she thought of on that taxi ride home was where his hands had been on her body and how intensely her desire for him burned in the pit of her abdomen. Sitting beside him for the entire ride...she didn't know if she couldn't make it back to the hotel without jumping on him, didn't know if she could stand it every time the driver made a turn and sent his body against her's. It was a miracle when the taxi had halted in front of the building and they all decided to call it a night. The second she'd made it into her room, she'd practically ripped her clothes off in an effort to relieve the ache that overtook her the whole ride home. She hadn't even meant to think of him, didn't realize she'd been calling his name, it just happened.

His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths as he started to walk across the hallway to the door to his room, only to realize he was hard. It would have been obvious had anyone walked by him. He was strained against the fabric of the towel, painfully hard from what he'd heard and seen.

He let his forehead fall against the door, "Fuck."

-

Bill Denbrough paces back and forth nervously in the room he shares with Richie, thinking through everything that happened in the week they've been in New York. The first night was simultaneously great and terrible. Great, because of the fun they'd had and the club and the fact that he knows his feelings for his best friend since childhood aren't unrequited. Horrible, because now he can't look her in the eye without hearing how she sounded moaning his name and every time he remembers that, he ends up having to go to the bathroom to relieve the pressure in his jeans.

This entire scenario has practically been his wet dream since he was a teenager, when he'd started getting feelings for her.

It all truly started when she'd turned sixteen, three years after what they'd experienced together in the sewers with fighting It, long after they'd just been kids who's only wish was to get rid of the evil plaguing their town. It was her sixteenth birthday, when he'd started to have feelings for her. There was something about how she'd looked at him from across the table at the Denbrough's home, a light kind of admiration in her eyes that he'd never seen before. There was something in the way she looked at him that made his hands tremble and his knees weak. Because he swore, and stands by it to this day, that he'd never seen someone look at him like that and never seen someone so beautiful in all of his life. And the rest was history. Suddenly, being with her was when his life felt the brightest. With absent parents and his little brother no longer there to give him the love he craved, he turned to her. He didn't need her to be his girlfriend and never expected anything other than companionship from her despite how much he grew to love her. All he needed was their movie nights every Friday and the hug she'd give him every time they said goodbye. He needed the sleepovers and the smiles. He needed the love because he surely wasn't getting it anywhere else.

Y/N and Bill spent the later half of their teen years doing everything together and still, even as they're older, they spend almost every waking moment with one another. Until this week. He can't see her face, let alone hear her talk, without thinking of what he saw the night after they'd gone dancing.

He hates how much it arouses him whenever he thinks of it. Because he wasn't supposed to be there, it's something he wasn't meant to see, and the mere fact that he's gotten off to it multiple times makes him want to hit himself. It feels so intrusive and disrespectful. But whenever he has a spare moment in the now fixed shower of their hotel room, his hand slides down the plane of his stomach and he wraps a hand around himself, wanting, wishing it were her's. Before this week, he hadn't fantasized about her in such a way since he was a teenager, filled to the brim with lust and raging hormones. So this, and the fact of what he walked in on, makes it impossible for him to look her in the eye. He's practically been avoiding her the entire trip. Ever since that night he's been wanting her so badly that being in the same room as her makes him have to fidget and look away and somehow distract himself. For crying out loud, he caught a glimpse of her cleavage at breakfast today and an image of her bent over the table burned into his mind until he had to get up and go because of a "stomach ache".

And then come the feelings, the pesky, annoying, aching feelings that come along with his desire. Because after he lets himself fantasize about her in the shower, he calms and for a moment between the orgasm and when he's back to his right mind, he thinks of whispering to her in the dark. He imagines pressing soft kisses to her lips and cradling her into his arms. He imagines everything he's been scared to admit to her for a quarter of his life so far.

"What the hell are you so nervous about?" Stan's voice breaks him out of his panic-induced daze.

Bill turns around to face him and tries to keep his nervousness from meeting his face.

"Nothing, I'm juh-just..." He trails off.

Stan has always been the one who knows when something is up with him. He sees right through him and always has. It's like that with most people, but especially Bill. And seeing him act so skittish and weird for the duration of their trip has been eating at him. At first, he made the decision to leave him be and mind his own business. The way he saw it was, if he's acting off there's a reason, but who is he to ask? They're best friends, of course, but he gives everyone the respect of their personal space. But in the last day or two, his odd behavior has been getting a little excessive and hurting a particular Loser's feelings. It was only when he and Y/N had a conversation about the difference in their mutual friend's behavior that he decided to step in.

She pulled him aside after breakfast today, since Bill had stood up and bolted in the middle of something she was saying, and asked him if he thought she did anything to upset him. Stan knows that Bill means everything to her and if she thinks that she did anything to hurt him, it would break her heart. Everyone can see their love for one another clearly. So when he simply abandoned them all at the table this morning the moment she'd started to speak, they all figured something bad had happened between the two. In the middle of their conversation, he could tell she was getting worked up over it and was evidently upset. That's what lead him here, to having to sort out the mess his friend undoubtedly made.

"It doesn't seem like nothing," He throws back at him, his arms crossing over his chest.

The taller man swallows back the lump in his throat at the words and lays back on top of the disheveled bedsheets and blankets. He covers his face with his hands. How could he ever explain a situation like this to someone? He trusts his friends with his life, but not so much with something as embarrassing as this would be for Y/N if everyone knew. He doesn't want to her to know and doesn't want her to be uncomfortable. Because he knows that if the roles had been switched and he'd been the one in that bed as she caught him moaning her name, he'd be so embarrassed that his face would permanently be red.

No matter how much he wishes he could talk to someone, at least so it'd be out of him, he forces himself to say, "It really is nothing."

Stan presses his lips into a harsh line and since he can't see it, he rolls his eyes.

"Do you actually think I can't see that something's wrong? You've been acting like a deer in the headlights all the time, you run off anytime Y/N's in the room, and you act like you're taking Richie's Adderall. Don't give me bullshit, William."

He tenses at the use of his actual name. The only time anyone calls him by that name is when they're trying to get him to listen, to really listen and take them seriously. He starts to remember all the few times he's been called that outside of rare interactions with his Mom and Dad. Y/N has never called him William...but the sound of a shoe tapping impatiently against hardwood floor interrupts any of his memories of being called William. He hates the name because it's what his parents called him, always spoken in a condescending or careless tone. His friends almost always call him Bill. He likes that name. It's the nickname Georgie gave him when he was younger.

"I c-can't tell you."

Is it even worth telling anyone if he doesn't even plan on telling the person it's about anyway? He already feels like he's disrespected her and to tell someone else would be even more of a violation, wouldn't it? A part of him desperately needs to talk to someone about his situation here, but he doesn't want to hurt her in the process.

"Bill, I'm being serious."

No answer.

Stan scoffs at him and walks away from the wall he was leaned against to stand at the end of the bed.

"I didn't want to have to tell you this, but it seems like you won't talk unless I make you," He sits on the mattress beside him with a huff, "Y/N is really scared. With the way you've been ignoring her, she thinks that she did something to upset or hurt you and thinks that you ignoring her is punishment for whatever it is. So, if you have anything to talk about, spit it out, because I don't like seeing either of you upset."

His hands drop from his face. She thinks she's made him upset...thinks she did something wrong. The thought of that makes his heart drop.

Bill sits up instantly, his head in his hands and his elbows braced against his knees as he curses under his breath, "Fuck."

The only other time they'd had a falling out was in their freshman year of college, when he'd gotten a girlfriend and accepted the fact that their relationship would always be platonic. This was when she'd started to distance herself from him, for reasons he'd been oblivious to. But Stan wasn't. Stan had to watch both of them suffer. Because while he did like the girl, he didn't love her. Not like he loves Y/N. He wasn't crazy about her like he is for Y/N and some of it was just him convincing himself to move on. Eventually though, he had to break up with her. He didn't think it was fair that she was committed when he was in love with someone else. And he still remembers the look on her face. She wasn't upset or mad at him. She looked kind of happy and then she told him about her suspicions, that she always couldn't shake the feeling that he wanted something more with the girl he'd been friends with since childhood, said that she understood. Part of him wishes he'd gotten over her, just so he maybe could have had a shot with that girl. She'd been so kind and understanding but none of that could have made him love her.

The truth is, he's had women before and heard his name moaned on more than one occasion since he started college and lost his virginity. But it never affected him like hearing her call out his name did. He's never been so filled with need that he can barely think of anything other than the person he wants. He's never wanted someone as badly as he wants her right now. Thinking about the fact that she was thinking of him while touching herself...it makes his breath hitch in the back of his throat.

"I just-I-You have to s-swear not to tell anyone. I mean it, because if you do it'll end up hurting her and I swear to f-fuh-fucking god, Stan, if you hurt her-"

"Chill out, you know she's my friend too. I would never willingly hurt her, or any of you for that matter."

"She's not my friend."

Stan raises a brow at him, wondering if he's going to admit to what happened or not.

"S-She's not my friend. I mean, she's my friend yeah, but not like how I'm friends with Bev. I don't see her as just a friend. I'm in love with her."

It isn't a shock. Though neither of them know, all of their friends know that Bill and Y/N love each other. It's something that they talk about every so often when neither are present and sometimes Richie tries to make them take bets on when they'll finally get together. Their relationship is something every one of them would support, it's something they've been wanting to see happen since they were practically kids. Even before they realized their feelings for each other, it was clear to see their bond and compatibility. Specifically, it was what happened in the cistern when they were thirteen. That was when they all came to the same realization. She'd gotten badly hurt by Pennywise, a razor sharp claw to the shoulder. It was the scream that he'd let out when he saw this happen, the hysterical scream that nearly shook the walls of the room around them, that told them all they needed to know of their feelings for one another.

When he'd seen them dancing together last week, he'd felt a little sad. Even after all this time, nothing but secret glances and suffocated longing.

"I know...now tell me what happened," Stan pleads with him a final time, deciding that if he doesn't answer now then he's going to go.

Maybe it won't be so bad if he talks. His heartbeat starts to pick up a thunderous speed at the thought of telling his friend. If he says something about it, then he'll feel a little bit better right?

"I-" He sighs, "The first night we came here I danced with her. And I usually don't l-let myself get that close to her, so for the rest of the night I didn't want to see h-her."

That entire night was a mess. He was a mess. Because he let himself get close to her and dance with her and for a moment they weren't a million worlds apart. For a moment he wondered what would have happened if he grew a pair and asked her out when they were younger. And then they left, and he got grumpy and anxious to shower just to scrub his skin raw so that he wouldn't have to feel her all over him still.

"But our shuh-shower broke so I used her and Bev's. When I walked out I heard something and got curious so I f-f-followed the noise to her room," He talks fast now, stutters more, and stumbles over his words, "I m-may have intruded on something I wasn't supposed to s-see..."

Stan gives him the respect of patience now and he waits for his friend to gather himself. But after a while, he starts to realize the silence was supposed to mark the end of the conversation, that he wasn't planning to continue. He brushes one of his curls behind his ear and leans a little closer.

"So you walked in on her with someone else? Or you didn't walk in, you just heard..." He pauses carefully, "And that's why you won't talk to her."

Wrong. So entirely wrong. Just thinking about if the situation had gone in that direction makes his stomach twist with anger. If he thought someone else was in there with her he probably would have just become sad, not skittish and embarrassed around her. Nevertheless, he's not planning on telling him all the little details of what happened and it might be for the better if he doesn't know that she was alone, that it isn't jealousy or anger that he's feeling, but embarrassment and...desire. It's mostly the desire that's making him act so odd. He doesn't want her to be made uncomfortable by it, doesn't want his glances to be too obvious, doesn't want to get close enough to touch her. At this point, he's holding himself back on a leash and is yanking himself back when he gets too antsy. If he didn't leave at breakfast he would have lost his mind. Every moment he spends beside her, all he can register is how his body feels; like it's on fire.

Being near her feels like how it felt when he was only seventeen years old. He remembers that time with a stunning clarity now that he feels this way. Memories of this burning desire bloom in his mind and he recalls all the times in his youth where he's wanted her this way. He remembers the first time they kissed under the soft, nearly burnt out lightbulb in the lamp of his childhood bedroom. They were talking about first kisses and he hadn't had his yet. So she kissed him. Then never spoke of it again. The only other times it's happened we're when they were incredibly hammered and barely knew left from right let alone who they were making out with. It never progressed beyond those fleeting few moments though.

"Yeah," He mutters, suddenly a lot more closed off than he'd been in telling about the first night of their trip, "T-That's it."

"I'm sorry, I know how much you've loved her. But you could always talk to her...she's kind. She'd understand. Maybe she'd be a little mad that it took you so long to come to her about it, but she cares about you and you being jealous wouldn't change that-"

"Thanks, man. Uh, I'm just g-gonna hop in the shower though and I'll be back out soon."

He pretty much runs through the door, not even giving his best friend a chance to get another word in other than a quick yell, reminding him to get ready to go to dinner tonight.

The bathroom door slams shut, the sound of it bouncing off the walls of the small room around him. It isn't just about the fact that she was thinking of him to get off. It's about the love and all of those complicated feelings in the middle. The feelings he's been making sure to stuff deep down inside of him until quite recently. Hearing her say his name, it made him feel like there was a chance, no matter how small, that maybe she wants him as much as he's always wanted her. He braces himself against the countertop and lets out a heavy exhale. Maybe.

-

Y/N relishes in the feeling of the warm breeze pushing against her skin. The wind brushes strands of hair away from her face as gently as a lover would do. The wind cools her down, calms her down too. Because right about now, there's nearly nothing she can do about the nerves that run rampant through her.

Bill is ignoring her. Actually, he's avoiding her like the plague, like how Eddie avoids her when she has a cold. But that's not what she's focused on at the moment. On a more important note, she found a pile of his clothes outside of her bedroom door the morning after their first night here.

Unbeknownst to her, he'd dropped his clothes when he saw her that night and didn't even realize he'd done it. All he was focused on was getting out. But she ended up finding the clothes and asked Beverly if she knew why they were there, which she responded by telling her that the shower in his room was broken so he took one in their room. She had every intention of giving them back to him, but he wouldn't talk to her let alone give her a chance to return his clothes.

Now, she hurries up the front steps and walks into the nearly empty laundromat with his clothes stuffed into her bag, still reeking of the drink she'd spilled all over him that had dried into the shirt. Her bag will probably smell like tequila and weed for the next two months if she doesn't get these dirty clothes into a washing machine soon. The current plan is this; she washes his clothes and uses giving them back as an excuse to talk to him or at least get him to acknowledge her existence.

But that can wait until after dinner tonight. Stan had made reservations for them at an expensive restaurant and not even her situation with Bill will mess with their plans, not when her friends have been looking forward to their dinner reservation.

She drops his clothes into the washer and shuts the door.

-

The restaurant is nice. It's exactly what he would've expected Stan to choose for them and it even has a dress code, which is why he's wearing an uncomfortable suit he borrowed from Richie.

For most of the night, he hasn't had to speak much to Y/N outside of nods or greetings or one syllable words. So in light of that, it's been alright and for most of it, he's enjoyed himself. He understands fully why his friends were looking forward to coming here. The food is great, as well as the atmosphere. Fairy lights are decorated all along the ceiling through the fake vegetation they'd also hung up across the veranda overtop of where they sit, with the night breeze running along his skin comfortingly. Couples dance to music out past where he sits, outside of the comfort of the porch with a live band. He'd have to pay Stan back despite how adamant he is about picking up the check.

Empty plates are littered across their table, some stains left on the tablecloth no doubt from Richie discreetly trying to throw a meatball at Beverly, and now the rest of their time here is reserved for talking and drinking. Bill settles on the latter since talking would lead to having to talk to her.

"What about you, Bill?" Eddie's voice cuts through his swarming thoughts.

He'd been focusing his gaze on his untouched glass of Rosé, trying his best to not look up at her from across the table, that he didn't hear the conversation. The tips of his fingers draw circles in the condensation on the outside of the glass and he reluctantly looks up to meet his friend's eyes.

"S-Sorry, I didn't hear what the question was..." He says.

This time, Stan sits up straight and cuts in, "Y/N wants to dance and everyone else said no, what about you?"

He could say no. Hell, he wants to say no just so he won't have to face her after a week of avoidance, but after what he was told today he's not so sure. Her feelings are hurt because he won't even look at her lately and even though it's not because of anything she did, she still feels guilty. She still thinks she did something to hurt him and that is what makes this so difficult. What is he supposed to do? Say no and make the girl he's loved since he was sixteen years old feel like shit?

The pit of his stomach turns light with fear and his fingers drum against the tabletop anxiously while she looks at him for an answer.

"Sure, I'll meet you out there in a s-second."

FuckFuckFuckFuckFuckFuck.

Bill raises his eyebrows at Stan the moment she leaves the table for the outside patio where the live music is and all he gets in return is a shrug, as if to say, "Figure it out." The last thing he wants right now is to have to dance with her, dancing with her is what got him into the situation in the first place. Maybe he wouldn't have needed a shower if he weren't next to her when she spilled her drink, if he'd have just sat at the table with Mike and Eddie he would have been fine. He chugs the glass of Rosé before he forces himself to get up from the safety of the table.

To give credit where it's due, he thinks she looks properly gorgeous and if he weren't hell-bent on avoiding her, he probably would have said as much when he saw her for the first time tonight. Because as he is walking down the steps from the veranda-shaded seating area to the patio where she waits for him, he watches her carefully. She's sitting with her back to him in yet another perfectly fitting dress that makes his knees go a little weak. It's white this time, a stark opposite to her blood red bandage dress she wore the night they went dancing, and as she stands up and turns around it only gets worse. It's modest save for a plunging neckline stopping at her breastbone that he almost choked on his own spit at seeing when she walked out of her room earlier. And he watches as she uncrosses her arms upon seeing him watching her, her hands settling to fiddle with the fabric of the skirt of her dress that runs down to her calves. It's odd to see her so dressed up when around him she's usually sporting jeans and a t-shirt or the rare skirt. But he loves it nevertheless.

"I was wondering if you were gonna come down here or if I got stood-up," Y/N says with a smile once he stops in front of her, "Glad to know you're still the good man I've always known."

It's hard to fight the smile that comes to his face at the sound of her lilting voice. His eyes crinkle at the sides when he lets the smile appear and, just for a second, he briefly forgets the week for the sake of not letting her feel hurt by his avoidance. And to be quite honest, the way she looked at him made him forget involuntarily. But just as quickly as the moment of bliss came, it fades away to leave him with the same reality he'd had before.

Bill's hand grasps her's faintly, as if to not feel the warmth of her skin, and he wordlessly walks her to the center of the cobblestone paved ground where mostly elderly couples and the few middle-aged adults dance with their husbands or wives. This is definitely a restaurant not in most of their price ranges. She isn't even sure if she's been to a place so classy and proper. Surely she hasn't been to a restaurant with a dress code before even though this is a favorite of Stan's whenever he takes a trip into New York. They stick out like a sore thumb in the tiny crowd of people well over their age. Some people even look at them as they start to dance.

Softly, music plays in the background with the strumming of a guitar and slow drum beat that starts to put his nerves at ease almost as effectively as the wine is helping him forget himself.

"I don't bite, you know," She says with a knowing look.

"W-What do you mean?"

Her eyes narrow in a seemingly playful way, but really? She's afraid of what's happening between them or actually the lack of what's happening.

"You're practically following our Middle School dance rules, arm's length apart and not too low on the waist," A pause of hesitation, "Are you alright, you've been acting different ever since we got here?"

'No, I'm not alright,' He wishes he could say to her. But that would come with questions he's not ready to answer and explanations with embarrassment that are more trouble than they're worth. Ever since Monday night happened he hasn't been able to think straight and almost every thought he has is about maybe having a chance with the one person he's always wanted. Then the other thoughts are filled with doubt and judgment, wondering if it's false hope. He can't see her without remembering that night so he figures it's better to not be around her at all.

"I'm fine, w-why wouldn't I be?"

Bill pulls her in closer upon request and almost shivers in response to her pressing up against him so tightly. One arm keeps her locked against him by her waist, closer than he ever lets himself get, while the other holds her free hand, and they dance in the wake of their own silence. This newfound tension is destroying the both of them. The only other time they'd been so distant was when he'd been dating that first girl in college and she'd stopped walking with him to class in the morning or meeting him for lunch in the afternoon as she always did. Because seeing him with another person hurt. Seeing him, seemingly, fall in love with someone other than her broke her heart because for some reason she's been stuck on him since she was a kid. There's something about him that she craves and she doesn't have the strength to walk away for long. He's the one. He's her "you jump, I jump". He's someone she's never had to work hard on maintaining a relationship with. What's always drawn her to him, was their natural connection and the way that being with him is as simple and instinctual as breathing. There was never any break in conversation or moments that were as struggling as the ones they share now, in light of this growing tension.

And her? He's been wanting to be her's for years now, been pining after her silently for ages. She's the only love he's had in his young life.

"I just-I'm worried about you...you haven't been talking at all and you left in the middle of breakfast without saying anything," Y/N says quietly.

The fabric of her dress is soft against his hand and for a moment his fingers graze over the zipper, making his jaw clench in reaction. Images flash in his mind of unzipping the beautiful dress down her back, pulling the sleeves off her shoulders until all that remains is her bare skin, warm and soft beneath his touch as he runs his hands down her body. This is why he's been avoiding her. Because touching her like this, feeling her body against his, and hearing her voice, all make him need her with a scorching kind of desire.

"I'm okay," He reassures her with his best attempt at a smile, "I p-promise."

For the first time all week, their eyes meet and they hold each others' gaze. And Bill could have happily died right there, in her arms, under her loving gaze. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like being with her, almost forgotten how damn worth it any embarrassment or ill feelings would be for her. After all, he's already spent years without satisfaction from her so what's so bad about a measly little week?

But she says something that shocks him back to reality again and the carelessness that had flooded his mind is gone.

"By the way, I have your clothes in my hotel room. I found them outside my door and Bev told me you borrowed our shower and probably dropped them on your way out," Y/N chuckles.

"What?"

She found them outside the door. And then it occurs to him that he must have dropped them when he saw her in bed...Every muscle in him tenses all at once and suddenly looking her in the eye becomes all too hard to do again. He drops his eyes to the floor. How had she not found it odd that he'd dropped them right outside her door? How has she not found out what happened yet? Stan had told him that she was upset with him leaving in the middle of breakfast today and to ditch her, leave her high and dry again would be cruel. But what other choice does he have? He can't dance with her. He can barely be around her!

The music that he'd earlier tuned out, fades back to him as he takes a step back from her, his hand slipping out of her's easily. It's all too much; being with her but not with her. He's been doing it since he was a boy and he thought he could keep on, but he can't. A part of him wishes he never loved her at all, so at least he wouldn't have to deal with this week's torture. Maybe she doesn't have feelings for him. If she did all this time, why wouldn't she have said anything?

Bill steps back from her and says, "I uh-, " He starts to walk backward from her, "I'm g-g-gonna go finish dinner, I don't really feel like dancing anymore."

Her face scrunches up in confusion and hurt and she reaches out to grab his wrist, halting his movements. The touch makes him want to pull her into him. The touch makes him want to kiss her.

"Are you sure you're alright?" The look on her face turns solemn and it cracks his heart in half, "You know you can talk to me about anything...you always can."

It's hard for him to walk away. Because every instinct he has tells him to walk closer, to pull her in and dance and kiss her until she sees stars. But he simply can't. He can't make himself do it. Not if it could end their friendship. Not if she doesn't love him back. He's lived throughout the entirety of their friendship feeling this way, so close yet so far at the same time. And all he could possibly want is for her to reach out and save him, but he knows she won't. He knows it.

Y/N watches him with wide eyes, the romantic song they were dancing to now feeling like a sad reminder of the barrier, the distance, he's put between them. He's never made a move. Not once and to her, that's rejection. So she grips his wrist with a trembling hand and prays that he'll turn back to her, wrap his arms around her waist, and dance with her like she'd asked him to.

Being in love with her best friend for the entirety of their friendship isn't something that's exactly easy to do. It's filled with secret longing and a kind of hesitancy she didn't know she could have. Not that he ever remembers it clearly in the morning, but the only time he's ever let his feelings for her show is when he's drunk, after all those are the only times he's ever kissed her. Except once...except that first time when she'd made a leap of faith and kissed him when she was sleeping over his house when they were younger. The memories are fresh in her mind as she stares into his face right now and remembers it looking the exact same way when he was only fifteen and she was sixteen. He'd looked surprised mixed with something she couldn't read. She'd never been looked at that way so she had no way of knowing that he was looking at her like he was head over heels in love. The same way he's looking at her now.

It used to be different. He used to be more straightforward and obvious, but after years of it he grew tired and accepted it. Even after what he saw and heard on Monday, he isn't sure and he doesn't even want to try. Little does he know, she feels the same. Little do they know, all they need to do is try and the other would be waiting as they have been for years now.

"I know. I just don't really like slow-dancing," A lie, "Plus, I can't let Stan pick up the check by himself."

Bill walks away immediately, knowing that if he doesn't make himself leave now then he never will, not if she keeps looking at him with those hopeful-sad eyes of her's. His heart pounds against his chest to the cadence of a racing drum that the change in song brought on. Hurting her feelings like that makes his chest ache with guilt and sorrow, and as he makes his way up the steps with his hands deep in his pockets, his eyes shut in an effort not to let anyone see tears he very well may shed. The way he sees it is; he has to let her go at some point. He can't waste away his whole life wanting her without ever succeeding after doing it for so long. Except, even while he walks away from her, he can't help but feel like she's the one he's always been meant for and that maybe he's making a mistake.

Her eyes follow him the entire time he ascends the stairs for their table under the veranda and the moment he's out of sight, she hurries for the pathway leading out to the backside of the restaurant where only the employees are allowed to go, and she begins to sob. The tears fall freely down her face and she cries so loudly she's surprised the people working in the kitchen just inside the building can't hear her. But that doesn't matter, not now, when she's been rejected and pushed aside for what felt like the millionth time this week. Point taken. From now on she'll leave him alone like he's been doing to her and she won't bother being so loving towards him anymore. It's clear he doesn't want her anyway. Y/N only lets herself cry for a few minutes before she wipes her face with the hem of her dress and walks back to the table, finishing dinner in silence for the rest of the night. Bill didn't say a word either.

-

Stan wasn't ready for the tension-filled breakfast that greeted him the next morning. All was well before they arrived, separately of course, yet both practically carrying a storm cloud above their heads when they plopped down into their seats. Something isn't right.

The rest of the Losers sit as still as they can, as if making any sudden movement would invoke an outburst. He hadn't told any of them what he'd been told, since Bill had made it very clear what he was saying was only being said in confidence, but they all saw what happened last night. They saw him walk away and saw her hurry off to god-knows-where to do god-knows-what without anyone seeing. It wasn't until she came back and he saw her red eyes that he understood what happened.

Bill leans over his plate, propping his head up on his elbow while he forks a piece of sausage on his plate, the sound nearly echoing in the awkward silence.

Y/N stares emptily into her bowl of cereal, her eyes glazed over from what looks like a mixture of exhaustion and crying her eyes out; which Bev would prove both as true.

"Are you guys...okay?" Mike asks.

Eddie adds, "You guys look like shit."

"Yeah," Richie says, setting down his fork, "You look like you just saw a dying puppy or something. What the fuck happened?"

The two Losers look up from their breakfasts at one another first, then quickly turn to face the others and say at the same time, "Nothing's wrong."

The rest of the dining hall is empty, seeing that they came into breakfast at the very end, while everyone else was going out to go about their business for the day. Only a few waiters standoff by the wall far behind them, unbothered by their drama. She averts her eyes to the table in front of her and tries to find anything to take her attention off of her friends questioning them. It's starting to feel a lot like the time when Bill had a girlfriend in college and a strange kind of tension arose between them. That semester was filled with moments like these at parties and study sessions, so much that she eventually just avoided him like he'd been doing to her lately. Everyone hates when they get this way. They wish they'd swallow their pride and date already.

"Whatever, they can be weirdos together," Richie says with a bored look on his face and turns back to Beverly to talk.

Slowly, everyone gets back to the conversations they'd had before they'd come into the room and it's a lot more bearable to sit at the table for her without the silence swallowing up everything. The rest of breakfast though, goes fine if you count not being on speaking terms with the love of your life as being "fine', and even she ends up talking a little bit to Ben, who always has known how to bring out the light in people.

After they leave the table and all decide to head up to their rooms though, Stan gets to work. It takes all of two minutes of her lagging behind the group for him to tap her shoulder and lead her to an empty hallway while their friends ride the elevator up to their floor.

Y/N crosses her arms over her chest and leans against the wall, raising her eyebrows at him as if to say, 'What is it this time?'

His eyes roam left to right, checking for anyone who could be overhearing the conversation, and says, "Alright, you need to talk about whatever's going on with Bill because you guys are all sad and mopey and I think it's freaking me out."

Typically, it is so unlike him to be peeking into his friend's business, but he can't let them destroy their friendship over what he was told was a little bit of jealousy over someone she was with.

The color leeches from her face at the mentioning of him and suddenly her confident mask of neutrality shatters to the floor. All she can hear in her head is; He knows, he knows, he knows, he knows!

But still, she tries to lie, "I don't know what you're talking abou-"

"Bill tried to play it off as nothing too, but it turned out it wasn't. I can't make you talk, but you really shouldn't hold it all in."

"Wait, you talked to Bill?"

He nods.

Then, if he'll be willing to, he could tell her what the hell she did to make him hate her so much. Then, maybe she could talk to him and sort this mess out. Or, he could tell her something that doesn't change their situation at all. Her shoulders slump and she lets out a sigh. It's worth a try.

"Why is he so angry with me that he can barely stand to be in the same room as me for so much as five measly minutes when just last week we spent five hours hanging out together?" Y/N asks, any mask gone and her emotions flowing freely.

Being able to not hide her true feelings feels so freeing and she almost shuts her eyes to enjoy the relief of being able to simply relax. To talk about it, no matter how difficult it may be.

His face softens slightly, sympathy for her sadness and worry no doubt, and he moves so he's leaning against the space of wall beside her. It takes a lot for him to even consider telling her something someone told him as a secret because just thinking about it kills him. But his friends...what he's doing could either end terribly or amazing, he doesn't foresee a middle ground here.

"You won't tell him I told you? And you won't tell anyone else what I told you?" His only questions.

She nods vigorously, her arms falling to her sides, "Of course."

"First off, you're an idiot for not seeing how clearly in love with you he is and second of all, what made him start acting so weird, it happened the first night we got here," Stan explains quietly, "He told me that the shower in our room broke and he tried to get it fixed and that didn't work, so he asked Eddie, but that didn't work either. So he used the one in your room."

What does this have to do with him hating me? All we did was get drunk, go dancing, and come back to our rooms.

"When he was on his way out he said that he heard you with someone...in bed."

Her face twists with confusion.

"I wasn't even with-"

The first night they'd arrived in New York City, they'd gone drinking and dancing. And she remembers this despite her being nearly blacked out drunk because of the fact that Bill had been dancing with her the whole time. They were both not in their right minds and their control was slipping so they were all over each other, as they usually are when they aren't sober. It was how the warmth of his breath had felt on her skin, it was the closeness of their bodies and her breasts pressed against his chest, it was his hands touching her all over her body, it was him. He was surrounding her, she was drowning in him. Except it had to end and they rode back to the hotel in the taxi beside each other, with their bodies still so hot and at least she knows she was yearning for his touch. The minute she said "Goodnight" to Beverly she was shutting off the lights and stripping down to her undergarments. She might as well have been encased in flames she was so turned on. So, she took care of it and during...she thought of him, said his name. But Stan doesn't know that she was alone in that room and if Bill heard her he would have heard her say his name, not anyone else. Hell, he may have even seen it if she was drunk enough to not close the door completely.

The realization hits her right then; that it was never him hating her or avoiding her because she did something mean or stupid. He saw her. He heard her. He heard me moaning his name. And it all makes sense now that she knows why. Every adverted gaze, awkward silence, and ended conversation she understands. No wonder he's been acting so fucking weird.

"Um, I have to go," She blurts out.

By the time he registers her words, she's already starting to push away from the wall, frantic to get upstairs. It'll be embarrassing, scary, and just about every emotion she's ever felt combined, but she has to sort this mess out.

Stan goes to stop her, to ask what she's going to do or say to him yet she has her mind already made up and she's already out of his grasp.

"Thank you, Stan!" Her voice calls out as she runs around the corner leading to the elevator.

He rolls his eyes.

-

Y/N made it to their floor as fast as she possibly could, the realization still fresh in her mind the whole way up. The apples of her cheeks flush with color. This would have to be the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to her. To be caught doing that normally is embarrassing, but in her case...It's a worst nightmare scenario. Yet even with the current, terrible reality; that he caught her touching herself, it's better than what she'd assumed happened. Being avoided by him was painful and without his presence or his kindness in her life, she'd felt empty. In a way, she still feels empty. Because things still around completely sorted out.

The hallway is empty of her friends by the time she reaches his room and knocks. Richie opens the door with a knowing smile.

"Looking for your loverboy?"

And though she'd usually laugh at something like that, she just looks past his shoulder at the inside of the hotel room. It looks like he's the only one there. Clothes are slung over the arms of the couch and the sound of the TV playing in the background is all she can hear, but not him.

She brushes her hair behind her ear and asks, "Um, yeah, I'm looking for him. He isn't here is he?"

"No," He says, "He went downstairs, I think he's heading out to go to the store, we ran out of snacks."

"Okay, thanks."

The walk-more like run-to the lobby isn't bad. By the end of it, she's definitely huffing a bit, but she sees him there near the front doors and starts running toward him again. She has to brace herself for the conversation and inevitable admitting of feelings, because after what he saw she can't deny anything. The warm summer air kisses her skin when she pushes through the glass double doors leading to the front of the hotel where he's standing, waiting for a cab.

His hands are shoved deep in his pockets and the wind blows through his hair, the bright sunshine making his light skin glow from where it peeks out of his clothes.

"Bill."

The sound of her voice surprises him. He'd volunteered to go out on a run for more snacks for their room for the sole purpose of getting out. Getting away from his friends, from her, and not having to think about any of this. When he turns around, she's looking at him nervously, like how she did after she kissed him when they were kids or how she looks when she's worried about him. Her eyes fall on him instantly and they devour. For the first time in ages, she lets herself look at him how she wants to without worrying about him finding out about her feelings for him. For the first time since her sixteenth birthday, she looks at him with love and total admiration in her eyes.

They're kissing before either of them can let out another breath and all she feels as she holds his face in her hands is love. He kisses her gently, timidly, as if all of it is a dream and one wrong step could wake him up. It's the first kiss they've had since they were teenagers alone in his bedroom, having their first kisses with each other. Their bodies press together tightly, his arms wrapped firmly around her waist and gripping like he never wants to let her go.

Bill is the one to pull back, shocked, and looks at her incredulously. He brushes her hair back from her face.

But she beats him to any questions, "Before you say anything...I have a lot to say and it may not be a conversation you want to have in public."

The feeling of his heart beating wildly against his chest distracts him from how heated his skin is turning at her hands sliding down his shoulders, setting him on fire as she always does.

"O-Okay," He says softly and takes a step back from her, "I'll call a cab."

-

When they'd gotten in a cab and he'd told the driver an address she didn't recognize, she asked him where it was they were going. But he kept his mouth shut. The entire ride to their secret destination, she's buzzing with energy. 'I kissed him,' is all she can think. The words echo through her head in time with the memory of his lips on her's. It was a slow, sensual kiss, the kind that dizzies you when you pull away, and neither of them can stop thinking about it. All they want is for it to happen again, but for the entire cab ride through the traffic of New York City, they miraculously stay apart.

She can't help but wonder what he's thinking after what finally happened. It seems that they've been toeing the edge of this line for years when today they've finally crossed it, hesitantly and terrified, but they still crossed it.

The farther into the drive they get, the better looking the area becomes and partly, she's nervous for what he has in store for her. What could they possibly be doing in such a nice part of the city? Even Stan has never taken them through here and he has a taste for the finer things when he can have them. The cab pulls to a stop in front of a building, pristine looking even from the inside of the car, and he pays the driver.

"What is this place?" Y/N asks, her eyes wide as she stares up at the top of the structure.

He leads her forward, his hand slipping into her own, and nods at the doorman on his way through the doors.

"An ap-p-partment building."

They cross through the front lobby and it leaves her speechless. Everything seems so clean and polished that she's afraid of touching anything, it seems too perfect for people to actually live in. And it's eerily silent in this room save for a ringing phone somewhere near the doors. Her fingers squeeze tightly around his hand for support, the casual feeling of warmth from him a comfort she hasn't felt until now. She feels so out of place amidst the decadent chandeliers and marble floors so clean she can see their reflection in it as they walk. The elevator doors open with a quiet 'ding' once they stand before it.

She stands leaning against the back wall of the elevator with her hand still clutching his desperately when she asks, "You have a place here? You actually have a place here? It looked like a museum in the lobby."

He gives her a quick glance and then ducks his head down, his cheeks pink with color.

"After my first book got published, I used the money to buy my apartment here," His thumb brushes circles onto the back of her hand, "I usually just use what I have to to live n-n-normally, you know despite the money, but this was something I really needed."

It's no secret that he's successful, but it is one that he has an apartment on the Upper East Side that not one of his friends knew about.

His first novel, he spent three years writing. Starting in his Sophomore year of High School and ending his first year of college, he ended up getting a deal for it to be published the following year. From then on, his career as an author took off. People loved his writing and his book was selling out in stores and soon he wrote two more. Now, he has three books currently published and is living out one of his dreams. Writing, for him, is like breathing. Life without it would be pointless and he doesn't need to force it, never resents it. The words flows in and out like a deep breath of air. Because sometimes the paper is the only thing that will listen to the thoughts that swirl inside that head of his, sometimes paper is the only thing he can talk to. That is the main reason why writing is essential to Bill as a person other than the fact that he loves it.

The Losers wondered briefly if the sudden drastic change in income would change anything, but soon realized the opposite. They even thought themselves stupid for even worrying. Nothing much changed after he got published and got quite rich other than the fact that sometimes he takes them on trips to places like the one they're on this week. He tends to not be excessive with anything and not let having money change him. All he really needs are his friends and a place to sleep anyway, the rest is a bonus. The rest is a comfort.

Her eyes train on him, watch him for any signs that he's kidding since she's never known him to be one for a luxury like this. But he doesn't do or say anything, all he does is wait for the elevator to come to a stop.

They step out on the top floor and turn down a long, tiled hallway with dimmed chandeliers to light their way. It's surreal for her to be in a hallway with more wealth in it than her own apartment building has in its entirety. There's too much to focus on; the detail in the paintings hung on the walls surrounding her and the vase of roses and lilies placed an alcove she passes by or the calming yellow hue the lights cast over the room. At least the feeling of his hand gripping her's keeps her grounded to the moment and helps her remember what's going on. They're going to talk finally.

"Don't expect m-much. It's a nice place, but you know me," He says as he unlocks the door.

Indeed. It's a simple looking apartment, penthouse to be specific, and it makes her grin. It's so like him to spend the money on a place like this and decorate it to remind him of home; of what living with his friends and her is like. The couch is reminiscent of the style of couch in her and Beverly's apartment, brown leather with a blanket thrown over the side. It's almost as if a piece of all seven Losers has been dropped into this place. Her heart feels full at the thought of it.

The sound of his footsteps coming up beside her pull her from her daze though.

"I bought it for when I need to get away," An answer to an unasked question, "S-Sometimes when everything gets to be too much, I take a train here and clear my head," He pauses, "I come here to think. It's a good place to write too. It's quiet and nobody else ever comes up on this floor."

Y/N nods, "A way to get away from the world...a conversation not to be had in public."

His voice, as always, is gentle, "This seemed like the best place for a talk like the one we're about to h-have."

Suddenly, her nerves from earlier start to come back and her stomach feels like it's being knotted as she looks up at him. They're standing in the middle of the living room, the kitchen to their left, and a hallway she assumes leads to his bedroom to their right. It's a lovely little home, one she'd expect from him. Like he'd said, it feels far away from the rest of the world and she can actually think here instead of have her thoughts swirl around in her head as rampantly as they usually do.

She walks from the living room to that hallway, her eyes following the pictures of the Losers on the walls the entire trip to his bedroom. The pictures start from when they were younger and on only kids to recent escapades of their's, whether they be trips or nights out together. The sounds of his steps on hardwood floor aren't far behind by the time her hand pushes against the wooden door to reveal the room within.

His bedroom is the most personalized part of the penthouse, with pictures on the night stand and a writing desk pushed up against the wall at the end of his bed. It's the windows that steal the show though. Most of the walls are made up of floor to ceiling windows with a view of the city stretching out beyond. It's so nice that she doesn't know what to focus on first. The writing desk seems like a good place to start though.

Her hand runs along the surface of the dark mahogany wood. The idea of him spending hours hunched over this desk, capturing stories to his heart's desire until the sun disappears over the skyline and the moonlight falls over his face. Thinking of him writing makes her happy. It's where he's most himself, it's where he expresses himself and creates. It's his craft.

But there will be more time to explore the the place and until then, they have a lot to talk about. She turns around to face him slowly, carefully, and sits atop the desk.

"I kissed you," Her voice is barely a push of air.

Bill's arms cross over his chest as he sits on the edge of the mattress to say, "You did..."

The distance between them feels unnatural after what she'd done and she can't help but want more, crave more. Her fingers tap anxiously on the edge of the desk. There's no good way to start this conversation in her mind other than to rip off the bandaid and get it over with. Sometimes, that's even the best way to go about doing things.

"I know why you haven't been talking to me," The shocked look on his face makes her take a moment of pause, "You saw me didn't you? You heard me...and you haven't been talking to me since."

The silence that follows her words is deafening and for a moment they both have to stop, turn away, and brace for it. He finds her eyes after a moment though and she sees the color spread across his face.

"I didn't mean to wuh-walk up, if I knew you were doing that I wouldn't have-I'm just s-s-sorry," He whispers only loud enough for her to hear despite them being all by themselves on this floor.

Her eyes flutter back up from the floor to him where he sits with his long legs stretched out in front of him at the end of the bed and she stares at him while he isn't looking. He looks the same mostly to what he looked like when he was younger. He's still in his twenties and on top of that he's always had a younger face than his age, so he doesn't seem much older than nineteen. A noted difference would have to be his body. Though he still has remnants of his lanky, lithe body from Middle School, he's put on a good amount of muscle as he's grown up. Something that hasn't changed and hopefully never will are his eyes. Those endless, wide gems of topaz blue she always finds admiring her when she sees them have not changed a bit.

"Don't apologize. It's not anyone's fault. We were both drunk and I didn't even close the door...I'm more curious about what you've been thinking all week," She sighs.

His back stiffens at her question. What has he been thinking? What hasn't he been thinking? Every time he's been close enough to touch her all he's been able to think about has been the sound of his name coming from her lips. All he's been thinking about, dreaming about, has been her and how badly he wants her. It's still odd to even be talking to her about this. And to think, soon he'll be telling her even more, at least he thinks he'll have to explain it all.

"Y-You're okay with me being honest?"

"Always."

The fire sparking up between them flares when he starts to speak, "All I've been able to t-th-think about is how much I want you. I mean, fuck, Y/N, I didn't know you even-I haven't been able to l-look at you without wanting to jump on you. Seeing you at dinner in that damn dress, I swear to god I was going to lose my muh-mind," Bill starts to lose his grip on his emotions now that everything is being put on the table, "And it isn't even about wanting you sexually," he lets out a shaking breath, "I've loved you my w-whole life. I wish I could've said that without stuttering because I've dreamt about finally telling you more times than I can count, but I'm a m-mess right now."

The confession has left her dumbfounded. And she hears his words fresh in her mind, I've loved you my w-whole life, until her body is flooded with happiness and all she can see and feel and think of is the man she's grown up falling in love with. Memories of riding on the back of his bike, fighting for each other in Neibolt, helping one another heal in the years following their encounters with It, kissing him for the first time, every moment she's ever spent by his side rushes through her in a storm. It's impossible to believe that all this time, through all of the late nights where she's been wishing for him or the semester of constant jealousy when he'd had that girlfriend, he was in love with her too. It feels like time was stolen in this terrible miscommunication. They could have been happily together for eight years now. Eight years of lost time. Eight years of kisses, dates, conversations, and sex. Eight years with the love of her life wasted.

There's nothing to say at first. All she can do is look at him in a new light and see all of the things she's never gotten to before. Every glance and little scrap of desire had been hidden deep inside of him until now.

His eyes are glazed over by the time she starts to walk across the space between them, pushing off the desk. She kneels in front of him.

"I guess I should explain myself too then."

He mutters, "I would like that."

"It started when we were in the cistern together with our friends and I'd been stabbed, you had let out the loudest scream. I'd never heard someone sound so scared in my entire life," Y/N rests her hands in his lap and holds his gaze fiercely, "I don't think I knew it yet, but that was when I fell in love with you."

The breath in the back of his throat stops short where it is, leaving him quite literally breathless. But he doesn't stop her.

"Then, we got closer as the years went on and it started to get more intense the year I turned sixteen. And I remember one night we were in your room together, laying in bed and talking when you told me you'd never been kissed. So, I looked at you and I kissed you. I remember it like it was yesterday, you were kissing me back so softly and pulled away with that stupid, cute look on your face. It was horrible of me to not say anything or at least tell you I had feelings for you, but I was scared. Can't help but think of how much time we lost in keeping it a secret," The feeling of her hands squeezing his knees brings him back to reality after he'd been stuck in the pit of his memory thinking about that first kiss, his first kiss. He lets his hand fall overtop if her's as she says, "I've loved you my whole life too."

It's his turn to be shocked.

When she'd kissed him outside the hotel, he knew she had at least some kind of feeling for him. Because that was one of the best kisses he's ever had. Maybe it's only because its her, but he'd never felt that much passion behind a kiss he's been in before. All that love that had welled up inside of them, none of it being expressed or used, flooding out in one kiss. He wants to experience that kind of love every day for the rest of his life. He wants her every day for the rest of his life, if she'd want him back.

And, as if she could read his mind-more like read the doubtful expression on his face-, she sits up from the floor and brings his face to her's. They kiss quickly, softly, but it makes his heart melt all the same.

Inbetween the tender pecks Y/N whispers, "I love you, I always will, " The next words are nearly inaudible as she mumbles them into his mouth, "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Bill."

The feeling of his tears falling into their mouths mid-kiss surprises her, but doesn't stop them at all. It'd take a lot to separate them at this point. They've been waiting for so long and now that it's finally happening, they'd be insane to stop. The bed creaks with her weight shifting on to it when she moves to sit on his lap and opens her mouth up to him instinctively. It's stunning to him that his reality is this; holding his love in his arms without having to hold back as he always had to before. Their tongues fill each others' mouths, the kiss quickly heating up as his hips involuntarily buck up against her's. For a while they stay this way, despite any rising desire, and enjoy the feeling of having this love and grinding against one another in the safety of his room. The world feels far away from them up here.

He ducks from her lips to the lowest part of her neck where her shoulder and the crook of her neck meet, and he begins to suck at the skin in search of her sweet spot. The action sends shivers down her body. Never has she felt so weakened just from someone kissing her neck before.

The sound of her voice is hushed and panting, "You were dancing with me that first night and the whole way home I wanted to sit on your lap just like this. I wanted you so badly," She lets out a needy sound when he bites down on a particularly sensitive piece of skin lower on her body, bruising her exposed cleavage, "So I went home," His hands grip her tighter at that, "I went home and I touched myself, pretending it was you."

His hips rut against her's hard at that and she lets out a gasp that makes his semi-hard member twitch in his briefs.

He pulls back from where he was so skillfully sucking and kissing love bites onto her breasts to remind her, "You were moaning my name."

"I was."

They fall into a rhythm as he continues teasing her. Their bodies rock gently, all too gently, against one another and his hot breath spreads goosebumps across her chest with every exhale. Her fingers find the button of his jeans quickly though and in return, he yanks her own leggings down her thighs as far as he can manage. She watches him run his hands down the front of her body, slowly making his way to her panties, which, had she known what they'd be doing today, she would have changed into a lacey and preferably skimpy pair that would have driven him wild. But he goes out of his mind for her all the same once his hand slips underneath the waistband of her underwear and his fingertips dip to feel how wet he's gotten her.

He lets her rest her face in the crook of his neck when he puts pressure on her sensitive bundle of nerves, rubbing languid circles against her. The pleasure falls over her from head to her curling toes and it feels so overwhelming that she's shocked she hasn't come already from this alone. Because even though it's only a few soft brushes of his fingers against her core, it sends shockwaves through her body over and over again.

The sound of her heavy breaths begin to get quicker the lower he moves his hand, his other steadying her on his lap by her hip. It isn't like he's had as many lovers as Richie or Beverly, who had preferred one night stands heavily throughout college, yet he also didn't abstain from anything. He's had enough partners in the night to know what he's doing with her. And she can tell this, as he keeps working her clit with his thumb as he eases a finger inside of her. But she doesn't intend on letting him take over, doesn't want him to be giving and not getting anything in return. There's a need rooted deep inside of her to show him all of the pleasure in the world. Excitement runs through her at the thought of having him all to herself in this bed for the day, thinking of all the things she'll do to him.

His belt buckle is undone before he even registers what she's doing. She has to focus hard through the daze that's taken over her senses at his ministrations, but she manages to keep undoing his pants. That is until he stops moving his hand to get her to look up at him.

"What?"

Bill gives her a look that tells her to quit it, then says, "Don't worry about me right now, j-j-just relax, " He presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her chest and starts to move his thumb in circles over her again, "We have plenty of t-time to get to that anyway. I don't plan on leaving anytime soon."

Her head tilts back in an instant after he starts pumping a second finger into her without warning and opens her mouth in a silent moan. The things he's doing to her she's only experienced in her dreams. Never once did she think they'd actually happen. But here they are, and, god, is she happy it's real. That familiar feeling starts to build in the pit of her abdomen as he continues, unrelenting and hitting the most perfect spots as if he's been done it before.

Y/N cups his face in her hands, panting heavily, and looks over his face, memorizing and admiring all at once. The bond between them, stronger than ever, is practically palpable in their unbreaking stare. She can feel herself being pushed closer to the edge with every quick, deep pump of his fingers and flick of the pad of thumb on her overstimulated clit. The two pleasures meld into one seamless, unending shock of euphoria that sends her reeling. Never once does she let herself break his gaze though. Seeing his eyes, unchanged by the years they've grown up, shining with lust and appreciation for only her, sends that pleasure up a notch.

The sound of her moans when her orgasm hits her makes him want to peel off the rest of her clothes, makes him want to make her come undone again and again until she can't take it anymore just to hear those delicious sounds surround him like a symphony of his own making. Her muscles spasm uncontrollably in response to the intensity of it all and the position she's in; astride his lap with her legs tightened around his hips.

Everything is blank for the minutes she spends with her eyes shut and her forehead rested against his. Already, he's made her come this hard. She can't begin to imagine what it'll be like soon once he's slipped inside of her. A moan almost slips out at the idea of him filling her up and since she can feel his hard-on pressing up against her clothed crotch, she has an idea of what it may feel like.

But when she tries to move against him, showing that she's well enough recovered from her climax to keep on, she's flipped onto her back in less than a second.

His voice is lower than it ever has been with her as he speaks into the valley between her breasts, her shirt already discarded across the room, "I've been wanting you so badly...seeing you in that f-f-fucking dress was the nail in my coffin."

It takes her a second to process his words, her mind still hazy from what he'd just done to her. Once she does register what he's said though, a wicked smile spreads across her face. He tossed her jeans and underwear somewhere behind him.

"I put that dress on for you, you know."

It isn't a lie. Y/N had spent the afternoon getting ready and debating what to wear when Bev dragged that little number out of her closet. Deep down, she'd done it because she wanted to see the look on his face when she walked out. She wanted him to unzip that dress and kiss every inch of skin that was exposed. The amount of times she'd fantasized about him ripping that dress off of her that night was immeasurable.

But the reaction she gets out of him from that confession is even better than the look on his face that night. His entire body freezes and he carefully, so carefully, looks up from her naked chest to see her face. To check if she's being genuine. And once he realizes that she isn't fucking with him, he kisses her so hard that she has half an urge to wince at the sheer force of the collision.

They're kissing and rutting and touching animalistically. His hands are all over her, searching for something, anything to touch and appreciate while she wraps herself around his waist and kisses back with the same fervor as he does with her. It feels to them as if there isn't enough time in the world to make up for all that they've lost in the years spent uselessly pining after one another. They could have been happy all this time and yet...it took them eight years. Eight years of frustration and want and jealousy. Eight years of not being able to do what they're doing at this very moment.

Bill pushes her arms above her head and keeps them pinned there with one of his hands, gripping her wrist harder as she makes an effort to reach down to run her hands down his back. The sensation of his lips pressing kisses to her peaked nipple makes her want to flip him over right now and ride him until he's a stuttering mess, her name falling off his lips like a prayer. He's teasing her, playing with her. Every brush of his kiss-swollen, reddened lips on her aching breasts is an act of pure torture. He takes it slow with her and she, begrudgingly, lets him.

With every lovebite he sucks into the soft skin of her nipple, he runs over it with his tongue to soothe any pain he'd left behind and when he pulls back she goes cold from his absence. His plans are cut short though.

Y/N has him propped up against the headboard, his eyes wide after watching her take control like that. Women he's been with in the past have always liked him to be in control more often than not, not that he ever minded, but it's undeniably hot to watch her crawl onto him with a need so strong she doesn't want to waste time on his loving teases or brushes of his lips on her chest. Another time. They'll have more than enough time for that later tonight and she intends on letting him take as much time as he needs to drive her wild. She intends to let him do his worst, but for now? She needs him inside of her.

He watches her closely the whole time she pulls his briefs down his legs, her eyes adverting from the apex of his thighs with a blush on her cheeks. Gone is the woman hungry for dominance and crushing need. His smile is bright at her embarrassment.

"You can l-l-look," Bill says, his hands wrapping around her wrists and pulling her up to him, "You can touch too."

It takes a moment of her trying to stop the color from flushing her face to get any kind of response out of her, but he gets a soft nod in return. Her eyes go wide at the sight of him and that alone makes him want to smile with a sense of purely male pride, but he doesn't and instead runs his hand up and down her arm to comfort her. The width of him is just enough for her to wrap her hand around without having a gap between her fingers. He shudders at the unexpected touch.

She looks up to him, "I've never been with someone so..."

Scratch his earlier thought about pride, that makes him want to take her right now. The words ring through his head. I've never been with someone so...big. At least that's what she was going to say before she trailed off into silence. He interlocks his hand with the only one of her's that isn't wrapped around his dick, making his jaw clench with every slight movement her hand makes.

"If it hurts too m-much, tell me," His hand squeezes her's gently, "We can take as long as you need. Alright?"

The next few minutes consist of him getting up in search of protection, which he ended up finding in her purse since he didn't have anything stashed away in the apartment at all. She's on a contraceptive pill but prefers to be on the safe side anyway, since she's not in any way ready to be having a baby anytime soon, no matter how much she loves him. But once he's gotten it on, they're back to kissing again.

The entire time they kiss, their minds and souls entirely lost in one another, she braces herself for him entering her. It will inevitably hurt, even if he did already stretch her open a little bit with his fingers, because she's never had a person that big inside of her before. The first push he makes inside of her is much worse than she'd expected.

It's a mixture of overwhelming pressure and pain that she feels spreading from her core as he carefully settles himself inside of her bit by bit. And while she's wincing and braving the worst of the pain, he's groaning from how tight she is around him. It's an effort for him to not come right then and there. His hand grip her knees and spread her legs further as gently as possible, trying to make it easier on her while she adjusts to the size of him.

But soon enough, the pressure she feels eases and the need for him to move doubles almost instantly. So she presses a kiss to his lips and tells him to move.

They both are overcome with pleasure the moment that he makes his first thrust inside of her, the movement slow but powerful enough to make them both moan in response. He bites down on his lip to keep from speeding up, from fucking her as hard as he desires to and makes himself take it slow like he'd promised to for her. He figures it must be an incredibly uncomfortable adjustment to go from the girth of three fingers to the width of his dick inside of her. So no matter how good she feels, he stops himself from letting his hips buck forward like they want to do and he patiently waits through the painstakingly slow thrusts.

"More, " Her voice is a gentle brush of air against his face, "Please, I-" She's cut off by her own gasp at the feeling of him slamming back into her a little harder than she expected.

Bill loses any ounce of control at the sound of her begging, pleading him for more, and he unleashes himself on her. Their bodies merge beautifully with each rolling rut of his hips into her's and he watches in awe of her beauty as she tilts her head back to let out a filthy moan. Her fingernails dig into the skin stretching across his shoulder blades, managing to break the surface of the skin in some places.

Never has sex felt so wonderful for either of them before now. Now, it feels like the high of a lifetime. Now, they feel like they're on top of the world. Every other woman he's been with haven't been as good as she is for him and likewise for her. It isn't the same when you aren't with someone you love. It can be pleasurable and damn-well good, but it could never be like this. It could never feel like the most satisfying feeling in the world. It could never make his heart feel as full and happy as it is now. With her, he's his best self.

They can feel, and sense, each other getting dangerously close to the edge that they seek so desperately. But she gets there first.

Being pushed to that kind of intense, body-weakening peak again is almost painful for her to go through. Yet as she feels that ecstasy rush through her body like a drug taking hold, none of the soreness or over stimulation or sensitivity matters. All that matters is the earth-shattering amount of bliss that he's giving her. And the sight and feeling her orgasm is his own undoing.

He keeps thrusting into her slowly throughout their respective climaxes, keeping that explosion of an orgasm running as long as he can make it go until he becomes soft inside of her. It takes a long time for them to even "wake up" from the post-orgasmic state of peace they fall into, their sweat-covered bodies still cuddled as closely as possible throughout the entire ordeal. But after a good twenty minutes of resting, nearly sleeping for him, she moves from where she was laying beside him and rests her chin on his chest, her eyes roaming around the room curiously. She never got to inspect the whole apartment before they ended up in bed and she isn't too sure she'll be able to if the night keeps going in the direction it has been.

"Is that my picture on your bedside table?"

The question makes him open his eyes right away, the prospect of sleep suddenly far away. His eyes fall over her for a second, her bright and loving eyes focused on something behind him and her naked back exposed save for the blanket slung over her backside. He turns to see the picture he wakes up to every morning he spends here. It's a picture he took a long time ago, the last day of High School, of her leaning against his car with a huge smile on her face and the sun shining down like a halo around her head. He got that framed and put it on his bedside table years ago.

Bill turns his head to look at her again, still lying flat on his back with her chin propped on his shoulder, and nods sheepishly.

"I'm sure women you've had in here in the past loved seeing that there," She says with a soft chuckle.

But suddenly he stops blushing and stops smiling and stops everything and instead goes silent. She sees his quick change in mood and her laughing stops.

"I've never," He shakes his head and rests his hand on her shoulder, rubbing the warm skin as if to comfort himself more than to comfort her, "I've never had any women here. You're the f-f-first...I don't like having just anyone in my home, you're the only person who's been here besides me. Our friends don't even know this place e-exists and I trust them with my whole heart."

Her heart swells at the thought of him spending weekends here all by himself, cherishing his little spot far from the chaos of the world and living in peace whenever he needs to. And he deemed her important enough to share his personal haven with. She is beside herself with shock.

"I love you with my whole heart," Bill whispers, loving the way it sounds to say it out loud.

"I love you too," She says and kisses his shoulder softly, "with all of my heart."

Y/N let's out a loud cackle when he pounces on her, flipping her on her back to inevitably start what will lead to round two of their first day together. They couldn't be happier.


End file.
